Honour of an Outlaw
by teB360
Summary: His family murdered by bandits, Juna had been thrown into the life of an outlaw, when only a boy. He ate with them, fought with them, learned with them and grew up with them, but never had he loved them. Juna bides his time, as he waits for the perfect chanceto exact his revenge in honour of his family. But what does he do next? WARNING! Mentions of horribly awful happenings!


"We're raiding the campers tonight. They've set up their tents and are out fishing by the lake, right now. When they get back, we'll attack. We'll take the women, the gold, the armour and the weapons." An Imperial man known as 'Marillius the Cold', the leader of the unnamed group of bandits growing in size and plaguing most parts of Skyrim, decided out loud.

"And what of the younglings?" A Nord man named 'Yregmor the Unwanted' replied, almost disdainfully.

He was taller than the Imperial; the top of his shoulders met his forehead. Not only that, but the Nord was broader, more built and had thick arms banded with muscle enough to carry and use a steel war-hammer, whereas Marillius was only strong enough to support a rusty, dull sword that could barely cut butter.

"The children? Kill them, take them, use them, I don't care, but don't leave them alive after you're finished with them. We don't want the guards to catch on to us."

"And the horses?" Yregmor the Unwanted sighed, with a roll of his eyes.

"Are you daft, or something? We'll steal them and keep them as our own, obviously." Marillius's voice grew shrill and annoyed. He sent a hard glare to the taller Nord.

The Nord wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but Marillius knew that Yregmor could overpower him, if he wished to do so, with probably barely a flick of his wrist. Yregmor the Unwanted was an asset to him; to the clan. Without Yregmor, his bandit clan would be digging through Skeever droppings, instead of digging through chests of gold, not that chests of gold came easy to them, of course.

"How many people are there? It looks like a whole family. There's the mama, the papa, the brothers, the sisters, the dogs, the horses…" Njada counted with a wistful sigh, sending a glance to her father, Yregmor. Yregmor hadn't noticed as he was too busy searching with his eyes, where the hidden chests might be.

"I say, why don't we kill them all now, while they're off guard?" A High Elf woman, ex Thalmor agent gone bad, stepped in. She wore dented and scuffed Elven armour that once shone gold, but was now so badly damaged from things more than war, that it seemed almost bronze. The matching helmet she used to have had saved her life from a blow from a mace, she claimed, but the helmet dented so badly that she was no longer able to wear it. As a result of surviving death, she got migraines and headaches quite often, but her lust for blood had never quite been quenched, and so she took out all of her bottled up problems and issues on unsuspecting civilians. After a good fight, she was normally rather easy to get along with.

Njada remembered a time when the Elf, Evaeris, claimed to have been contacted by the Dark Brotherhood one night as they slept. They wanted to recruit her among their ranks, she said, but declined because the Brotherhoods' style is too 'mellow' for her.  
_Lies_, Njada thought. _Evaeris is full of them._

Njada had never heard Evaeris ever speak about why she was no longer with the Thalmor, despite all the tales about every other faction she's been associated with, and how she declined personal invitations from Maven Black-Briar to sup with her family, on more than one occasion.

But as most High Elves do, Evaeris liked to boast about how good she was, whether it was with a sword, with a bow, with magic, but Njada could remember over half a dozen times on how Yregmor had saved her more times than she can count.

Despite this, Evaeris still liked to act as though she were better than the brothers' and sisters' of the clan, and also claimed that she could leave 'any time she wants' but doesn't wish to, because they 'needed her' for survival. Most of the brothers' and sisters' could have left if they wished to as well, but because the majority of them started off as outlaws on the run, the only other place they had to go to, was jail. Thus, they decided to stay with the clan, because they needed the protection.

Njada, unlike the rest of the brothers' and sisters', was born into the clan with her father being Yregmor and her mother being an unknown traveller, or so her father told her. Apparently her mother stayed with the clan while she was with-child, and once Njada was birthed and named, her mother was off again, never to be found, leaving Yregmor with a squalling newborn and no idea what to do next.

The campers were unknowingly watched until the first setting lights of the eve, as the four bandits of the large clan waited. The campers had caught plenty of fish, and were hanging them upside down from a spit over the fire pit, like a trophy.

Marillius didn't give the campers a chance to eat, as he signalled the other three bandits to follow his lead. Evaeris pushed in front as usual, Yregmor growled to himself about it, and Njada hung back as she normally did. As her father, Marillius and the Elf charged in and killed the family with five easy sweeps, Njada waited for their return, having not seen the life fade from one's eyes or letting the first drop of blood fall from any victim, as usual.

"This one's still alive." Evaeris piped up, placing an Elven boot in the middle of a small Nord boy's chest. The small boy looked at her with wide, innocent and scared grey eyes. Blood was dripping from his mouth, and tears were threatening to fall from his eyes.

"Well do something about it!" Marillius snapped, as he rolled over the corpse of what was once the boy's mother. The majority of her skull was caved in, with the exception of a large gaping hole where the forehead once was, where the brain was threatening to leak out of, as sludge.

Marillius ripped open her threadbare, bloodstained shirt and fondled her bare breast. "Still warm." He grinned. "I wonder if she's still warm where it counts."

"Oh, Marillius, that's disgusting. That's a _corpse_ you're talking about; that's worse than necromancy." Evaeris's golden complexion paled at the mere sight of him. It was enough to affect her gag reflex. The boy beneath her boot struggled and whimpered, pleasantly distracting the Elf from the filthy, shameless Imperial. She applied more pressure to the boy's chest.

"What is he doing to my mother? You've got to stop him!" The boy cried, gripping onto the woman's boot by the ankle. "Please! _No!"_

"Your mother is dead, whelp. And you'll be joining her soon." Evaeris drew her sword and pointed it towards his neck. "Any last words before I send you to the planes of Oblivion?"

"Elf! That's enough. Put your sword away and leave the boy alone." Njada jogged towards the campsite as Evaeris shot her head around in alert and spotted her, leaving her sword to continue to point at the child's neck.

"What is it, this time? You can't save _every_ child from their fate, you should know that."

"You lie. If I can save him, I can save anybody. Don't kill him, Evaeris, he's just a boy; he doesn't know what's going on."

Evaeris sneered at the Nord woman and pressed the point of her sword into the boy's neck, drawing a bead of blood and a sharp gasp to escape him. "He knows that we killed his family and that Marillius is raping his mother's corpse. I'd say he knows enough and it's time to keep him quiet about it." The Elf raised her sword above her head, ready to strike down and chop the boy's head in two, in one cold swing.

"Elf, that's enough!" Yregmor's overpowering voice boomed with anger; colouring each and every word of his, to the very last detail. "Don't kill the boy, there may be a use for him, later on."

Evaeris, seething, sheathed her sword and lifted her boot enough for the boy to be able to struggle away, but before he even had the chance to, the Elf didn't miss the opportunity to send a light kick into his side; hard enough to bruise, but not hard enough for serious damage. The boy cried out in pain and curled himself into a ball as the Elf let him go.

The boy was petrified, but Njada placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, to which he cringed away from. He was shaking, but it wasn't from the cold. His small fingers were woven tightly in his hair, while his forearms hid his face.

"It's alright, we're not going to hurt you." Njada cooed, brushing down his soft, matted, rose blonde hair.

"Get away from me…" The boy weakly protested, yet making no move to leave the comforting gesture.

"You heard the boy. Get away from him, so I can hurry up and kill the damned thing. You're not his mother, Njada; his mother's dead. He doesn't want you." Evaeris gripped onto the pommel of her sword as she spoke sharply.

Njada ignored the Elf and picked up the small boy in her arms who seemed to have weighed nearly nothing. "What's your name, boy?" She asked him gently.

"It's none of your business." He declared, removing his arms from covering his face and sending a harsh glare at the woman.

"It _is_ my business, boy. I'm… I'm your new mother and I'm going to take care of you, and protect you." Njada replied; heart in her mouth.

"You cannot be serious!" Evaeris sighed out of frustration, turning around to see Yregmor's reaction to this.

"Njada, you can't just- " Yregmor began, but was cut off by his daughter.

"Quiet, father. I've made my decision." Njada didn't spare him a glance, as she focused all of her attention on the boy. "Now are you going to tell me, this time? What's your name, boy?"

The boy spat in her face. "You're not my mother."

Njada dropped him out of surprise and went to wipe the mess off her face with a gasp. The boy ran for it, but unluckily for him, he ran straight into the leg of Yregmor, who picked him up by the collar of his tunic and brought him up enough, so they could stare face to face, with one another.

"This one's got fire in him, I can tell." Yregmor grinned, revealing a set of brown, rotting teeth.

"I'll kill you." The boy whispered, loud enough for only the Nord man to hear.

Yregmor burst out into laughter. "Well, boy, what's yer name, then? I'm known as Yregmor the Unwanted." He introduced himself, but received nothing but a stare, from the boy. "Well, if yer not going to give me yer name, then I suppose I'll have to name ya myself. Senvar the Stubborn, eh?"

"No."

"Ogvar the, uh, -"

"No."

"Well what's yer fuckin' name, then?" Yregmor growled, shaking the boy out of frustration. The boy continued to stare at him. "I'll just call ya Senvar, alright? Alright." He handed the newly dubbed 'Senvar' over to his daughter. "Meet your new mama. Her name's Njada."

Njada welcomed the boy with open arms. Marillius was by her side, stinking worse than death. "This is… Uncle Marillius and…" Njada turned, seeing Evaeris dig through what was left of the campsite. "And that's Aunty Evaeris –"

"- Or just 'Elf'." Yregmor added.

"We are your new family, now, Senvar. Your old family is gone." Njada continued, ignoring her father.

"They're not gone; they're just dead. You killed them. They've done _nothing_ to you!" All the boy wanted to do, was curl into a ball and cry out all of the pain. Seeing the limp and lifeless bodies of his mother, father and brothers and sisters piled up before the fireplace sent a sharp pain to settle in his heart; it felt worse than a knife wound. It was deeper and left him feeling twisted and sick. Having being gutted by a cutlass would hurt less than this, he decided.

Njada responded by pushing his head into her chest, to block his view of his old family. "Shh, I'll take you to our fort. There's beds in there, and it's a lot more comfortable than a silly old sleeping bag."

The boy hadn't realised how fatigued he really was until that moment, but of course, memories wouldn't allow him to sleep soundly, unless he found a way to block them out and forget about them.

Njada brought him inside the tumble-down stone fort hidden up among the shrubbery and trees, as a new idea came into his mind; He will have his revenge. But to do that, he will have to stay with these bandits and he will learn from them. He'll use their skills and techniques against them, when the time comes for it. It may take several years training, but soon he will be old enough to wander the lands of Tamriel without being questioned for it, and he would be a free man. All that it would take, is patience, tolerance and a lot of acting.

Njada showed him to a bed frame with hay as a mattress and old furs that were in need of washing. It was secluded from the other rows of empty beds that they walked past, by some sort of curtain.

"This is normally where I stay, but you can sleep here instead. You're the only child in the fort, so it's probably safer if you're not seen. The other clansmen are rough and the clanswomen are harsh. It's best if I stay here, with you."

The boy, 'Senvar', sat down on the bed. "Is that what your call yourselves? A 'clan'?"

"We're more than just a clan; we're a family. We take care of each other. If you stay with us, I can guarantee your protection, and not only that, but all the gold and gems of the world will be yours." It was an empty promise, she made. The boy already found several holes in her judgement. He was wary about pointing them out to her.

If he was guaranteed safety and protection, then why did she need to stay with him while he slept? They were 'rough' and 'harsh', they were _bandits;_ they were no clan and no family. They killed his real family and now the false 'family' have adopted him, thinking he'd warm up to them, immediately.

He didn't want 'all the gold and gems of the world'. They wouldn't be able to spend that gold, or cash in those gems, anyway; it was because they were _bandits._ They wouldn't be allowed to enter any city or hold they come across. They're outlaws; they're wanted criminals.

He was their captive, hiding under a false name; a Nord boy of twelve.

No, he was more than that. He was Juna of Skyrim. He was strong and independent; he will be the conqueror of the bandit clan – of Cyrodiil! And he will travel back to Skyrim when he's old enough, destroying anything that gets in his way.

Juna, now known as Senvar the Stubborn, settled into Njada's bed, letting his thoughts and dreams come alive as he closed his eyes.  
Not that he had a restful sleep, of course.

.-.

**Well, that's the start of the first Elder Scrolls fic that I've ever posted. Hope it was enjoyable. I'm just not sure what to think of it, but hey!  
I haven't seen one that's followed the life of a bandit, before, though. ^-^ so thanks for reading!**

**I disclaim the Elder Scrolls series. All rights belong to the Bethesda company for producing such an awesome game series!**


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